Eamon leaned forward, lips heated velvet against her ear. Tongue a brush of carnal temptation to keep the chill of ominous prediction from settling in. “For the moment, Etain. For
Cyco Chalino turned onto the street, the sound of Jacko dying still in his head.
A whole load of motherfuckers were going to die tonight. A gift for Jacko, a tribute.
And when the fire burned out and the building was razed, if Cathal Dunne was still alive, he’d come back and do him. Or he’d have Spooky take care of it.
But tonight, once that
Oh yeah. He liked that. Or maybe when he got to Spooky’s hide-out, they’d decide to send his crew in, two minutes blasting away with the AKs for fun before using the launcher. He laughed imagining it. Loved the message of fear it sent. As long as he was alive, no one was safe. Not here. Not down in Mexico.
The driveway was blocked and only a couple of feet were open along the curve. With a shout he gunned the car he’d replaced the stolen Jag with through the space, doing a tight donut on the dirt-patch and dead-grass front yard.
Beneath the tires, brittle plastic exploded and metal flattened as he took out toys and a bike on its side. He stopped with a slam of brakes.
Inside the house kids went quiet as he passed them. Their mother was smart enough not to ask him what the fuck was going on when he was in a mood like this.
He knocked open the bedroom door with enough force to send it crashing against the wall and bouncing back. He did the same to the closet door, tossing the shit he’d used to cover the grenade launcher onto the floor.
He pulled the case from the shelf above the clothes bar. Motherfucker was heavy.
The weight told him the weapon was there. He knelt, opening the case anyway to make sure, stroking the remaining rounds. Oh yeah, he was going to use them tonight, maybe fire off all of them. In honor of Jacko. Like a fifty-gun salute with more killing power.
There were more rounds where these came from and he was connected to men who could buy and sell the people who’d be dying tonight. Long as drugs were illegal and there were plenty of people wanting them, it was like riding the money train.
Fire summoned Etain as the three of them stood beneath the shower, a burn of it where the Dragon’s name lay camouflaged in the ink on her skin. “Get ready to move,” she murmured, closing her eyes and mentally traveling the path of the alliance bond.
Another day perhaps she’d bargain to learn more about her mother, about her birth father, but there was already enough debt between them.
The Dragon moved and a scene unfolded at the edge of the shore, scrolling out in the wake of a ripple to become a pool table with a masculine arm lining up a shot. Movement sent the white cue ball forward to strike the blue-striped ten but it didn’t sink into the hole.
Turn lost. Roberto’s head lifted, providing Etain with a panorama of the room.
Anticipated victory rushed into her at seeing his cousin Cyco and four others, at recognizing this place belonging to an uncle. She’d been in this room, played pool on this table. Only once or twice, but she recognized the furniture, the curtains, the old shag carpet. She could find this house.
“Got it,” she said, opening her eyes.
They left the shower, drying and dressing quickly.
Liam and Heath and Myk joined them at the sedan, informing them that Cage had taken Derrick and Quinn to his boat.
Myk straddled her Harley, an image straight out of an erotic fantasy with his long dark hair and masculine features. She gave both him and Heath general directions then got in the car.
A couple miles away from their destination she said, “Much closer and someone will tip them off and they might spook. I should get out here.”
Heath pulled to the curb. Behind them Myk rolled to a stop. Eamon’s hand tangled in her hair, forcing her mouth to his. “Take no foolish chances.”
“I doubt I’ll have the opportunity.” She welcomed his lips and tongue, lost herself in scent and heat and the promise of a future together, doing the same with Cathal before making herself leave the car.
Liam had already disappeared into shadow by the time she took the offered helmet from Myk and put it on.
She straddled the bike then rode around the sedan, the kisses like liquid sunshine in her belly, blending in with adrenaline and a little kick of fear to make getting this handled and behind them urgent.
She took a corner, turning into an alley almost immediately, glad it wasn’t cluttered with trashed furniture and bald tires abandoned there. The sedan followed and she felt the spell working like a bubble bursting against her back as the car disappeared from sight in her mirror.
Warmth spread through her in a rush of love. This was Lord Eamon bending, stretching, involving himself in human affairs.
She slowed at the end of the alley, waited for a car to pass in order to allow the sedan to stay right behind her. It was a clear shot to their destination.
She hadn’t known the address, but memory got her to the house. A subtle hand signal noted it for Heath though she passed it, doing a U-turn in front of a neighbor’s house then another U-turn before stopping, the delay giving the men time to park and leave the car.
She took off the helmet, making a show of shaking out her hair. She kept her face hidden to hinder recognition, bought time by giving the appearance of a woman wanting to look good before going to the front door.
Liam would be inside now, getting the lay of the land, counting, positioning himself to stop hearts if necessary.
That made her own skitter.
She got off the bike and headed toward the front door, a confident amble rather than a hurried approach. The whole point of this was to make it appear as if she went in alone, and make the tip she was a few minutes away from giving Ordones hot enough to act on immediately with a fugitive apprehension team.
She had someone’s attention, inside the house and from across the street. She felt eyes on her, as well as the unseen caress of a masculine hand along her spine.
A hard knock on the door brought a guy in his early twenties. “Yo,
All good humor until she answered “Roberto Jimenez.”
“Nobody by that name here.”
“Roberto!” she yelled. “Roberto Jimenez.”
He stepped out of the room that had the pool table in it. “Let her in, Cricket.”
Cricket complied, making a point to look up and down the street before shutting the door.
She walked toward Roberto, experiencing a shimmer of deja vu with Cricket next to her. It was like stepping back into the dream of the slaughter, the two of them approaching the bar together. There was no mistaking the intangibles that made up a person’s presence.
“How’d you know I was here?” Roberto asked when she reached him. The boy she’d known wasn’t present
